


by definion

by iosis



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: M/M, Tokyo Ghoul Secret Santa, tsukikane - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 14:35:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5501045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iosis/pseuds/iosis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the thing about hunger, Kaneki-kun, is that it has its own flavours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	by definion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saezutte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saezutte/gifts).



> This is a gift to the lovely saezutte as part of the Tokyo Ghoul Secret Santa exchange 2015. I've had a lot of fun working on it, and I hope you enjoy it (: Have a lovely holiday season!

 

 

'The thing about hunger, Kaneki-kun, is that it has its own flavours'.

 

They're sitting on the curb, watching the shadows grow longer around them. The concrete is old and the cracks in it give way to stray blades of grass and Kaneki has one twisted between his fingers and he won't meet his eyes. He still hasn't retracted his kagune – the organ hangs limp behind his back, and a tendril rests along Tsukiyama's thigh.

 

'Sometimes it's quite _simplement_. You develop a need for something. You seek it out, you possess, and your hunger is sated.'

 

'Like us.'

 

'Like us, _si_.'

 

A siren wails in the distance. They've been out hunting – _Kaneki_ was out hunting - when a pack of ghouls had made the mistake of approaching them with intent far from friendly. They might have been from another ward, otherwise they wouldn’t have been so careless on this turf. They were easy to take care of. The police would be there now, and the CCG would follow, so they should move off more than two blocks away, but they sit here, in the gutter of an old paved alleyway and Kaneki's knee leans against his and Tsukiyama reasons it's okay to stay like this for a while.

 

 

'I shouldn't have killed them.' Kaneki speaks then, finally. He lifts his hand up, up and towards the sun, letting it stream through his fingers. There's blood caked under his nails but you can't tell underneath all the black. He's broken a nail, again, but it'll grow back, same colour as before.

 

'They chose to strike first,' Tsukiyama offers, and well he's not wrong – the bloody mess they've left behind was an outcome of self-defence, no more that that.

 

'I've had no need for their deaths' Kaneki parries. And sometimes it's not really guilt that comes through but something in the air around the half-ghoul, distorting. Tsukiyama always catches himself wanting to say something reassuring, comforting, but this isn't about him.

 

At this moment, though, he can allow himself a liberty of sorts. Just a touch. First a stroke of thumb along his elbow, then a heavier caress, guiding his arm down. Kaneki lets him.

 

He still doesn't look up, not when Tsukiyama reaches out and locks his hand around his wrist; doesn't even react as he places a tentative kiss to his hand, and then another to where he can almost taste the blood pulsing just below the thin layer of skin.

 

'Is that what hunger feels like?' He breaks the silence, finally, and his words ring hollow.

 

'Sometimes it's...it's a bit more strange than that.' He pulls back a bit, regarding the way his fingers look next to Kaneki's. 'You can crave something and you don't even know what it is, you're just kind of left restless and aching. And sometimes you take in more and more, until you've had more than you can take, but there's still a need within you and you still feel empty.'

 

Kaneki blinks at him from beneath the mask (his eye has turned back to normal - and when he's not fighting he sends off an illusion of peace and he's beautiful, beautiful)

 

'Sometimes,' he echoes, 'You say such strange things, Tsukiyama-san.'

 

He withdraws his hand out of Tsukiyama's grasp, but it's gentle, like the way he's looking at him, like the beating of his heart.

 

'We should take our leave now'

 

The sirens seem to move closer, though he could be imagining it. There's a new sound, a low drone of a helicopter, and something suspiciously like a gunshot resonates in the distance. Kaneki stands up, and Tsukiyama watches the tendrils behind his back fold onto themselves.

 

'Is it ok if we…'

 

'Mais bien sur!' Tsukiyama exclaims, swift to get on his feet. 'You needn't ask, cher.'

 

It has become a routine by now, a routine that was never really documented by either of them. Tsukiyama doesn't even remember the first time Kaneki took him up on the proposal to stay at his apartment after a hunt. He started offering, initially, as a means of access, a method of luring his prey onto his turf, and didn't notice at what point the strategy lost its allure, and the invitation became something he'd ask before parting. He'd never really thought Kaneki would find appeal in the suggestion. It was kind of sweet, in a way. (Of course it was also a prime opportunity to finally have his hunger sated, which _absolutement_ was the prime goal, eventually, when the time was right, one or another of these days.)

 

 

Some days are nicer than others in a way, because Kaneki walks beside him and occasionally the tips of his knuckles brush against the sleeve of the battle suit. Tsukiyama might attempt a joke, or hum in the elevator, fingers drumming against the control panel in impatience; Kaneki would give a little smile, a gesture of endearment. When the first thing he'd do as soon as the half-ghoul was in his territory is usher him into the shower and leave him to rinse off the blood and sweat and all of the less tangible that lingers, and try not to think too much as he'd set up coffee for two (Kaneki would smile and sit on the couch in a jumper a size too big and it's strangely domestic - and he really is a hopeless predator.)

 

It's impossible to not think forever though, to dodge the questioning of his own motives for good.

 

It's been easy to categorise Kaneki into nothing but hunger, to label every bit of emotion as a craving he holds so familiar. He knows how to act with food, the kind of relationship you have with your food is straightforward and predictable and quite frankly not composed of fleeting touches, averted eyes and two coffee rings locked together on the surface of the counter.

 

Some days are worse.

 

When Kaneki, drained and exhausted but finally fed, collapses on the couch and sleeps, arm draped over a bony shoulder, face hidden away from the world, and Tsukiyama knows not to touch him if he wakes up screaming.

When he sits by the portable heater and stares past the mug in his hand; he'll talk and laugh but his eyes are cold and silent and he's too tired to hide that. It's not Tsukiyama's place to say anything but just watching the effects of the kakuja take place is draining enough.

 

 

One of these days Kaneki forgets to take off his mask, though Tsukiyama thinks he just can't be bothered to. He's standing in the living room, by the bookshelf, bare feet on cold floorboard. It's like he's choosing something new to read or flick through, except the tome he's been holding for the past 10 minutes is upside down, and he doesn't even register when Tsukiyama puts it back on the shelf. He only looks up when his companion reaches around his neck for where the mask clasps in place, pausing briefly to feel the softness of white strands beneath his fingertips.

 

'Do you often hunger, Tsukiyama-san?'

 

'No more than every other ghoul.' the question is a bit off-putting, but he shrugs it off. 'Let's get this thing off you, _oui_? It's so tight I'm surprised it doesn't give you a headache…'

 

'You don't have to.' a step back, a retreat. The boy's arms are folded across his chest, a defensive gesture, and Tsukiyama mentally curses himself for making the wrong move

.

'You can do that, if you want,' Kaneki breathes, shoulders hunched, and suddenly he's so small and tired in one big empty room. When Tsukiyama's hand finds his forearm, he doesn't pull away, but doesn't lean into the touch either, doesn't show anything when the Gourmet has him in an awkward embrace of sorts.

 

'What was that, _mon cher_?'

 

'Satisfy your hunger. That's what you're here for, isn't it?'

 

Kaneki's voice is muffled – his forehead rests somewhere against his solar plexus, but Tsukiyama is painfully aware of the implication. To be fair, there's always been the expectation for this to come up. He can feel Kaneki's heartbeat through the layers of battlesuit and skin and flesh and he smells so good and Tsukiyama's so very lost, lost for words and actions.

 

'You're still convinced that's all that's on my mind?' He opts for a neutral response.

 

'I don't know what to think.' There's a brief silence and Kaneki just _stands_ there and Tsukiyama would do anything to alleviate the awkwardness.

 

'I have sworn you loyalty.' the Gourmet offers, a statement of occurrence rather than an attempt to justify himself, but Kaneki sighs, a ghost of breath before he's retreating, pulling away. His body suddenly feels heavy and Tsukiyama doesn't move as the boy steps around him to slump on the couch.

 

'And I'm to trust you.'

 

The unspoken accusal stings. Have I not given you reason to? He wants to ask, but the words get caught in his throat and their first meetings are always in the back of his mind, all flavours of betrayal.

 

Another sigh breaks the silence, and the half-ghoul throws his arm up in a gesture of frustration.

 

'Look, it's just. Really hard sometimes.' he clicks his fingers in the air, searching for words. 'It was easy when I knew where we stood. Me, a delicacy, and you, you're hungry and you're after me, except for now I'm stronger than you. But then you do things like take me home and make me coffee and spend your evenings reading with me and sometimes it's like you genuinely care about my wellbeing and it fucks with my head.'

 

'Does that assumption appeal to you?' Tsukiyama finally finds the will to approach, and Kaneki doesn't seem bothered by the additional weight that settles on the couch beside him.

 

'What, that you care?' He can't read his expression from behind the mask and that leaves Tsukiyama anxious, fingers itching to pry the garment off.

 

'It;s something that will break my heart, always.' Tsukiyama murmurs, and Kaneki turns on the spot, and he's probably confused at the change of topic.

 

'It'd be illogical for you to trust me, and there's nothing I can do to change that, _vraiment_.', and Tsukiyama wants to laugh at how weird that sounds, and how at the heart of what he's been tiptoeing around lies the fact that _changing_ that, getting Kaneki to trust him - has long become a priority over the promise of a meal.

 

Instead, it's Kaneki that laughs, quiet and hardly brimming with happiness, but it feels like the tension recedes a bit. It's easier to breathe now.

 

'Forgive me,' the half-ghoul offers when it's quiet again. 'It just feels like such a tragedy trope, this whole situation. Betrayal, deception, mending broken trust. That's all so cliché…'

 

' _Tres romantique, non_?' Tsukiyama smiles.

 

'Is that how you see it?'

 

Kaneki studies him from behind the mask, calm, calculating. The fact that his eye has turned is certainly a novelty, one that leaves Tsukiyama confused, but he can worry about that later, because there's suddenly a rush of warmth streaming through him as the boy is back on his feet, approaching. He stands between Tsukiyama's knees, and suddenly the air in the room seems too dense. The mask falls to the floor with a small sound, forgotten as he accepts the parody of a caress.

 

 

He holds Kaneki so close he no longer possesses an awareness of his surroundings, there's just a warmth of a smaller body against his, and he can feel Kaneki's breath on his skin, and he's never hungered so much. The other sighs against his lips and all he wants is to reach out and taste, to claim, but Kaneki turns his head away, eyes downcast, and there' s only the weight of two hands resting on his shoulders, shaking, uncertain.

 

'I've got you, _oui_? Come here.' he barely whispers, and slowly, Kaneki leans forwards, melts into him as if in a trance. The world slows down for a while, and then Kaneki's mouth is on his and his lips are soft and they're kissing. It starts innocent enough, gentle brushes, the boy peeking into his face through his lashes between pecks, but Kaneki's right, he's so, _so_ hungry, so eager to take in everything he's given and more. They end up back on the couch, limbs tangled, Kaneki's hand clutching at his as the kisses grow more heated, little gasps breaking against his lips. When Tsukiyama hooks his thumb under his jaw and gently forces Kaneki's head back, the boy arches into his touch and the Gourmet can _feel_ the tremours raking through his body.

 

That's encouragement enough, and Tsukiyama trails down the neck so eagerly exposed for him, the boy responding to every touch, every shift between them. It's so fucking good, with Kaneki sighing and writhing beneath him and he can't hold back, dragging his teeth across the milky flesh, all senses heightened.

 

He doesn't notice the exact moment the rinkaku comes out, the sudden touch of a foreign hardness against his shoulder making him still. It's alright though, with the boy looking at him like that, with the occasional jolt of his hips he's been trying so badly to conceal.

 

Kaneki's hand tightens around his own as the kagune lashes out, and Tsukiyama hisses through his teeth as his knuckles are crushed together, nails leaving marks in the side of his palm. The boy's eyes never leave his as the kagune tears the battlesuit off his body in one crescent sweep, splitting the fabric clinging to his skin and leaving his chest and abdomen exposed. It's a pity to see his design so ruthlessly destroyed, Tsukiyama thinks, but he's not the one to complain as more and more skin is revealed, and the traces of blood and sweat - and a faint scar between his ribs and a bigger one further down and he hasn't even realised he's been now at the skin, frantic open mouthed kisses, lost in the taste, lost in the little sounds Kaneki's making. Every touch is laced with desperation, with a desire to feel, to remember, and he's not known how much he's needed this.

 

'You're making a mess,' Kaneki's voice is surprisingly level, but his breathing is laboured and Tsukiyama can almost smell the excitement on him, feel the heat beneath his skin.

 

'Forgive me, _mon amour_ ', he pulls away for a second, glancing up, and Kaneki's eyes are half-lidded and there's a flush creeping up his neck and he wants to see more of him like that. He's right, he's not been careful; it's messy and wet and there's a string of saliva trailing from his mouth as he draws back momentarily, gasping for breath. He can't refrain for long though, dipping his head again and again, alternating between biting and sucking, savouring all of Kaneki's reactions. The other stills when he maps out a trail of feather-soft kisses down from his ribs towards where his hipbone protrudes in a gentle curve. When his teeth nip at the sensitive skin just below the ridge, Kaneki throws his head back and makes the quietest moan, hand falling loose.

 

The sound alone is enough to set his blood on fire. He thinks he could eat Kaneki, right here on the spot, devour and claim – except that's no longer what he hungers for, no longer what he wants to take more and more and never have enough of.

 

Somewhere far above, Kaneki makes a dissatisfied noise as the Gourmet meets the barrier of fabric, nuzzling at the spot where the torn material or the battlesuit still clings to his body. The noise quickly becomes another soft drawn-out moan as he mouthes at the ridge, traces it with his tongue, tentative dips heading even lower, and Kaneki's hand is now in his hair, something between a pull and a caress, and it's such a small gesture but all it radiates is a mixture of desire and trust. Someday, it will ruin him, Tsukiyama knows, someday but not now, not when Kaneki is rising to stand before him and the linoleum is hard beneath his knees and Kaneki trembles beneath his touch.

 

It's impossible to ignore how hard he is under all the teasing touches, not with the outline of his cock hot and throbbing and pressed up somewhere against Tsukiyama's neck. It's a bit awkward and he's not sure how to proceed so he's slowly shifting lower and lower, and the trails of kisses could've been almost strategic except they're becoming more and more frantic. He should hold back a bit, give Kaneki some space to retreat if need be, but the boy arches into every caress, every motion, hips moving beyond his control – and then he's on his knees in front of Kaneki, mouthing the bulge through the skintight material.

 

The hand in his hair tightens and Tsukiyama's more than happy to oblige, tongue pressing against the head, leaving a wet spot on the fabric. He moves his mouth down the entire length, alternating between lips and tongue, all and any form of contact he can get; he can almost taste the hardened flesh below and it's just out of reach, the biggest tease.

When he draws the tip in his mouth and sucks, the material rough against his tongue, Kaneki makes a sound, slow and decadent and Tsukiyama is gone.

 

There's no warning at all, but suddenly there's a warm, rough surface against his cheek, and the dark red of the rinkaku in his vision, a tendril around his throat and another one taking care of whatever's left of the battle suit until it hangs off the boy's knees in tatters.

 

Tsukiyama lowers his eyes on reflex, looking anywhere but at where Kaneki's cock strains for attention (so very hard and flushed red and his mouth waters). He glances up to seek a confirmation, some kind of proof that this is really alright, and the hunger in Kaneki's eyes makes his breath hitch. His entire torso is flushed and Tsukiyama can see the sweat glistening on his abdomen, and the fact that he was the one to cause this resonates with pride. He doesn't get to linger on that, though, not with Kaneki's hand sliding down to cup his chin and guide him forward so he can take Kaneki into his mouth. The taste is exquisite, he wouldn't have expected otherwise, but that's all secondary to how the boy stills in his arms, how he chokes back little sobs and gasps when Tsukiyama moves, drawing him in deeper, alternating between licking and sucking and it's all too good.

 

 

'If you bite down…' Kaneki manages, pulling back for a few moments, leaving a wet trail down the Gourmet's chin. His thumb brushes down Tsukuyama's temple, pulling his head back but the tenderness is deceptive – the next second there's four points of pain at the base of his neck. The blades of the rinkaku are digging into his skin and there's a steady pressure on his jugular and Tsukiyama strains to allow more access to his neck. There should probably be some sort of concern, with his carotids so openly presented, the tips of Kaneki's kagune leaving angry red trails where they break skin, but each one is a point of fire, a jolt of pleasure down his spine, fingers curling, nails digging into his palms.

 

Kaneki rolls his hips, slow and indulgent, cock pressed up against the soft of Tsukiyama's cheek, a heavy warmth, and he cranes his neck even further, reaching for it, craving more contact. He thinks about what he must look like in the moment, on his knees, head tipped back in the tentacles' grip, mouth wet and reaching out to lap at the tips of Kaneki's fingers or the underside of his arousal or whatever skin he can get to. He should be mortified with embarrassment but instead he just feels small and needy and overflowing with the desire to please, to show Kaneki that this is all for him.

 

When Kaneki forces his cock back into his mouth he can't help but moan around the length, and Kaneki echoes the sound, hips pulling away momentarily before snapping back, and Tsukiyama bobs his head in tact to the motion. The kagune writhes at his throat and he's struggling to breathe, tongue pressed against the head and his senses are going into overdrive until all he can do is hang on as Kaneki fucks his mouth, slow and depraved. He doesn't last very long like that, not with Tsukiyama taking him in so deep, so eager to please - as him thrusts become more and more erratic, a spectacle of control shattering.

 

Kaneki comes with a strangled cry, kagune digging in even deeper, Tsukiyama's name echoing in the empty room, and the Gourmet is left to take everything in. When the rinkaku tendrils retreat, he doesn't find the power to keep himself upright any more. It's like blacking out, except his elbows find the couch and his eyes are closed and all he can taste is Kaneki, Kaneki, Kaneki.

 

There's a softness tracing his lip, still sore and wet, and Kaneki strokes across his face, gentle. There's a ghost of 'Tsukiyama-san...' so very close to his ear, and when he open his eyes Kaneki hovers right over him, flushed and flustered, white strands sticking to his forehead.

 

Slowly, he reached out, brushes his hand along the half-ghoul's shoulder. There's too many questions in his head like what exactly was that; whether every gesture read as trust and comfort and mutual _something_ to Kaneki as it did to him, but for now all he wants to do is focus on the familiarity of Kaneki's presence, the gentle touch, the scent he's gotten so used to.

 

'Do you want...Uh, should I?' the boy suddenly looks aside, chin tucked into his shoulder as his hand makes its way down Tsukiyama's chest and towards the outline of his hip, the implication straightforward. He's still hard, the touch leaving tingles of pleasure in its wake even through all the layers, but this is still about Kaneki, and he doesn't want to take anything else.

 

'Maybe some other time,' Tsukiyama smiles, catching the hand in his. He gives it a light tug, pulling Kaneki into him until somehow they're flipped over and huddled on the couch, Kaneki's face against his neck, and the Gourmet hopes the other isn't too aware of how his pulse is still racing.

 

The boy is light in his arms and there's something impeccably correct about how their frames melt into each other. He doesn't protest when Tsukiyama reaches to stroke his hair, messing it up in the process, tucking loose strands behind his ear.

 

'Other time?' Kaneki murmurs, strangely content. 'You count on this happening again?'

 

'I did say – ' Tsukiyama stretches upwards a bit to place a stray kiss against his temple. '– there are instances in which no hunger is completely satisfied.'

 

Kaneki's shoulders shake a little, and Tsukiyama's relieved to see him laugh again.

 

'I guess I can't exactly argue with that.', and the half-ghoul curls up even tighter, radiating quiet content.

 

 

Some days are vignettes of peace.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> p.s. a huge shoutout to the mods for organising the event <3


End file.
